


Take the parts that I remember and stitch them back together

by Aisjustrunning



Category: You Could Make a Life Series - Taylor Fitzpatrick
Genre: Fix-It, Future Fic, M/M, obnoxious use of surnames
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 13:48:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15730662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aisjustrunning/pseuds/Aisjustrunning
Summary: Adam did not intend, or want, to see Larsson again. And yet, by some cruel hand of destiny, they keep running into each other throughout the Olympics.





	Take the parts that I remember and stitch them back together

**Author's Note:**

> This is self-indulgent fix-it fic I have always wanted to write for them. They weren't the right person for each other back then, but they may be now :)
> 
> I want to thank [Tami](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TamiTifer/pseuds/TamiTifer) for the beta (and she wrote the garden conversation!), even if she hated my hockey stick scene breakers, [Clem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallmercies/pseuds/smallmercies) for holding my hand through this, and [Andrea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ink_Alchemist/pseuds/Ink_Alchemist) for making me make them TALK. 
> 
> English is not my first language, so be kind.
> 
> Also, thanks to Taylor Fitzpatrick for letting us play in the sandbox. 
> 
> Title is from Richard Siken's Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out.
> 
> Oh, I know Marc's number is not supposed to be retired so this is technically an AU where the Habs retired 27.

Larsson is in the game against Switzerland.

Adam wouldn’t have even noticed, had the jumbotron not shown Lapointe and his husband sitting up there, both in Canada jerseys and beanies, between a teenager he recognizes as the other Lapointe kid, and Larsson himself. But once they are on screen, waving vaguely at the camera until it focuses on somebody else, Montreal full of hockey-related people worthy of being shown on the screen, it’s impossible not to try and find them in the sea of red and white. Larsson was on screen for less than a minute, but he looked unfairly similar to the man he was when he was playing for the Rangers, even before, when he was shamelessly flirting with Adam on the ice. 

Adam shouldn’t be surprised. He knows Larsson is Charlie Lapointe’s godfather, one of the useless pieces of information he remembers from twenty years ago. If any of his nephews were to play in the Olympics, he would be there.

When the game resumes, Adam hasn’t been able to find them yet. He takes his job as an assistant coach too seriously to get distracted by what is more a memory for him than a real person, now. He focuses on the women on the ice. He doesn’t think of Larsson again. 

_/_/_/

“Aiming for another gold medal, Rousseau?” 

Adam turns to see Lapointe, family in tow, waiting next to the locker room door after the game. 

Larsson is there as well.

They haven’t talked. Haven’t seen each other, really. Larsson retired after the year they—the year Adam started working for the Rangers. Adam knows, by virtue of the hockey world being actually small and hockey players being terrible gossips, Larsson’s been coming and going between Sweden and North America, not settling anywhere, with anyone. Adam has refused to learn anything else.

He hasn’t talked to Lapointe, either. They weren’t friends the few times they played together and they sure as hell weren’t friends across the ice, or when Adam was behind a bench and Lapointe got to still be on the ice, with a husband and kids watching him play. 

He gives Lapointe a short nod, however, and shakes their hands. He hesitates before extending his arm towards Larsson, who takes his hand and shakes it, squeezing for a second too long. 

There’s a glint in Lapointe’s eye, like he knows. Of course he knows.

“Do they just let anyone walk into the player area these days?” Adam says to Lapointe, trying to ignore the ghost feeling of Larsson’s hand in his. He’s only half joking.

“It helps when your name is on the rafters,” Lapointe replies. Adam used to think he was smug, but he just sounds matter-of-fact now. It’s even worse. 

“What actually helps is that you work here, stop bragging,” Larsson says. Riley rolls his eyes while Lapointe tries to murder Larsson with a glare and the kid chuckles. 

“Anyway, we still have to find our daughter,” Lapointe continued. “Good to see you, Rousseau.”

Adam is sure he can feel Larsson’s stare burning in the back of his head as he leaves.

_/_/_/

Adam did not intend, or want, to see Larsson again. And yet, by some cruel hand of destiny, they keep running into each other throughout the Olympics. He’s at every game Canada plays. Larsson is outside the locker room after the game against Germany, but Adam manages to pass by without a word, as Lapointe and family are busy talking to Charlie, who doesn’t seem too pleased with the shoot-out win. He thinks he feels Larsson’s eyes on him again, but he doesn’t check.

The most unexpected of all the encounters is finding Ulf at a local hotel bar. Adam takes a faraway seat, still fully aware that Larsson is looking at him this time. He sips his glass of wine and watches a replay of one of the figure skating competitions playing on the nearby television.

He’s not really surprised when he sees, out of the corner of his eye, Larsson taking the stool next to his. 

“Rousseau,” Larsson says as a way of greeting, beer in hand.

“Larsson.” He doesn’t want to say anything else. Wouldn’t know what to say anyway.

“Aren’t you staying at the Olympic Village?”

“I’m here for some alone time,” Adam replies, looking back at the screen, hoping Larsson doesn’t try to have a conversation. 

It is, of course, a futile attempt.

“I am staying here,” Larsson continues, taking a swig of his beer.

Adam glances at him sideways. “You are not staying at Lapointe’s?”

“I love Marc, but he and his husband are nauseating enough in public, even with Leon there and Riley’s distaste for PDA. I can’t stomach that twenty-four seven.” He pauses. “How have you been?”

That’s a loaded question, if there’s ever been one.

“I...” Adam is unsure of what to say. “A garden?”

“A… garden?” Larsson frowns.

“I mean, I have a garden,” he clarifies, already regretting the topic.

“Oh,” Larsson looks confused for a moment. “Neat? Didn’t peg you for a gardening person.” He grins, but the confused frown is still in place.

Adam internally cringes.

He should leave.

Instead, he takes another sip of wine, which has gotten a bit too warm.

An uncomfortable silence falls between them. Adam knows he’s not the best at words, while Larsson always seemed to know what to say, more comfortable in a language that wasn’t his than Adam ever was in his mother-tongue. But what do you tell somebody you haven’t talked to in twenty years? He doubts Larsson knows it himself, given the silence.

He takes a real look at Larsson for the first time. Up close, the signs of time are more visible. Small wrinkles on the corner of his eyes, and some white among the blond hair. He’s still in shape, as if he works out even in retirement. Maybe he needs it for his work. Adam has no idea what Larsson is doing nowadays.

Larsson is looking at the screen, either thinking or taking more interest in figure skating than Adam would’ve thought. Twenty years is enough time to pick up new hobbies, after all, and Larsson may have been interested in it back then, for all Adam knows. They never talked enough about their lives back then. Adam must admit that was mostly his fault; Larsson never had any issue talking about what he liked.

It’s Larsson, unsurprisingly, who breaks the silence. “I’m sorry.” There’s a pause. “For what happened.”

_ That  _ is surprising. He doesn’t resent Larsson, after all this time. He was mad for a long time, mad at the fact that Larsson did not have the balls to end things properly, had to go and fuck somebody else. But he’s not angry, not anymore. Adam is not an easy person, especially wasn’t back then, and he was being difficult, often on purpose. Whatever it was they were doing, it was not going to last. He knows that, now.

“I am sorry, too,” he replies, in the end. He can’t find anything else to say. Let Larsson do the talking if he wants to. 

He doesn’t seem to want to, though. Larsson looks at him, opens his mouth as if to continue, but closes it in the end. He stands up, leaving the beer glass half full.

“Want to come up to my room?”

_/_/_/

Adam shouldn’t be doing this.

He knows it when he stands up. He knows it while he follows Larsson to the lift. He knows it when he walks down the corridor to Larsson’s room. And he knows it when he’s pushing Larsson against the door inside the room, mouth hot against his. 

Up close, chest to chest, his hands on Larsson’s torso, Adam can feel that Larsson has put on a bit of weight, but his muscles are still defined, hard under Adam’s fingers. He spares a moment to consider how unfair it is, that Larsson could disappear for twenty years and come back looking almost the same, but that train of thought is lost when Larsson catches Adam’s lower lip lightly between his teeth. He gasps, almost surprised at how much he wants this, how Larsson is still able to get into his head and crawl under his skin with less than a word.

It’s been a long while, and they were only involved for a short time, but it feels familiar, almost natural, to help Larsson out of his shirt, to find him smirking when Adam goes back to the bed after folding his own shirt neatly. Larsson whistles and Adam can feel himself blush, his skin burning both from embarrassment and want as he walks back to the bed and kneels in front of Larsson. 

“Have you even aged?” Larsson asks, making his own exploration of Adam’s body with lingering hands. 

Adam has no answer to that question, is painfully aware of the changes on his body since he stopped playing, as much as he tries to stay in shape. His confusion must be showing, as Larsson chuckles and kisses him again. Adam doesn’t wait, isn’t in the mood to, and Larsson doesn’t object as he unbuttons his pants and gets a hand inside his underwear. The first stroke is dry, maybe too dry, going by Larsson’s gasp, but it does its job of getting Larsson to hardness.

“Wait,” Larsson says, getting up. He rummages in his bag and comes back with a bottle of lube, removing his pants as he goes. 

It’s quick and frantic from there on, Larsson getting his hands in Adam’s underwear, taking his cock in hand with his own and pumping. He traces up Adam’s back with his other hand, until he reaches Adam’s neck and tugs him forward for a kiss, never stopping the motion of his hand on both their cocks. When he comes, panting, Larsson’s body slightly colder against his burning skin, Adam feels more like a teenager than ever in his life. Larsson doesn’t stop, and Adam can’t make up his mind whether he wants to lean into Larsson’s hand or get away, oversensitive. He doesn’t have time to make a decision before Larsson is coming as well.

Larsson falls back on the bed and drags Adam with him, huffing when 230 pounds of former hockey player falls on him. Adam gets up quickly. Cuddling is not on the list of things he feels like doing with Larsson in any situation, and feeling sticky and gross makes it even less appealing, so he leaves quickly. He goes into the bathroom to wash and fix his hair. When he’s done, he wets another towel, goes back to the room and throws it at Larsson.

Adam grabs his clothes and starts getting dressed.

“Are you leaving?” Larsson says, from the bed, throwing the towel on the floor. Adam flinches.

“Shouldn’t I?” Adam asks. He doesn’t stop buttoning up his shirt. 

“I — ” Larsson seems unsure, sitting on the bed, the dim streetlight shadowing his face. Adam can count with one hand, one finger, the times he’s seen that look on Larsson’s face. He never struggled with words back then, he always knew what to say, even if what he said was not always right. Larsson looks away. “I wanted to say more things. Before.”

Adam feels the need to fill the pause. “Ok.”

“I was mad,” Larsson continues. “We had the closest thing I had ever had to an adult relationship and you kept closing up. Leaving me out. And it was scary for me, because I wanted more and I didn’t know how to deal with that. I wanted something I hadn’t wanted since I was a kid new to North America, and I had no idea what you wanted or even where I was going to be the next year.”

“So you picked somebody up, in front of me, after a small disagreement?” 

“I sabotaged what we had because I was angry, and because it seemed better than waiting around until you got tired of me, since it seemed obvious you didn’t want a relationship.”

Adam considers those words for a second. “I’d seen you flirt with countless hockey players, to get in their heads or their pants.” He pauses. He hadn’t exactly dwelt on it, but he had wondered, sometimes, what had been going on in Larsson’s head. He had had time to sort his own thoughts as well. Now that he’d started, he feels the need to finish, for better or for worse. “I was your  _ coach. _ And you treated everything as a joke. I’d lost my mother, I’d lost hockey, and I wasn’t willing to give more to somebody who didn’t seem serious about anything, for a relationship that could fuck what little I had left. And you confirmed all my fears that night.”

Words out in the open, Adam feels a small weight lift off his shoulder he didn’t know he was carrying. He’d needed to say that and he thought he would never get the chance. 

“I am sorry. I truly am.” Larsson says.

“So, what now?” He’s not sure what answer he wants to hear. He’s not even sure what just happened, if it meant something or not. He just knows he’s in a hotel room with Ulf Larsson, and he missed this for twenty years, more than he has ever been willing to admit, and he needs to know where they stand.

“Now, if you want, you can come back to bed and we can talk more tomorrow, or after the Olympics, or whenever you can.”

Adam considers it. He has to be at the arena at ten tomorrow for practice. He has games to prepare for. There are more things they have to say, both of them. He’s not good at talking, he’s not sure he has more words to give Larsson. He doesn’t know if he has anything at all to give him. He knows, deep down, that Larsson is still trouble. That he has everything else he could need in life, a job in hockey, his garden, Dana’s kids visiting him, and he shouldn’t want this.

He wants this.

Adam folds his clothes again before getting into bed. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Comments and kudos are love and I will love you forever if you leave them.
> 
> I'm on [twitter](https://twitter.com/textsandscones) and [tumblr](http://ilovetextingandscones.tumblr.com/), where you can see me cry about fake hockey three quarters of the time. The other I spend crying about real hockey.


End file.
